


In Arduis Fidelis

by Raliena



Series: Three Continents Watson [1]
Category: G.I. Joe - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Captivity, Cobra - Freeform, Doctor John Watson, Gen, John "Three Continents" Watson, John is a Very Good Doctor, John-centric, POV John Watson, Prisoner of War, Surgery, Violence, soldier John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raliena/pseuds/Raliena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA: The Story of How TC Watson Got His Name.</p><p>Once upon a time John was a Soldier and a Doctor.  And he was known John or Doc or Doctor.  But things change.  And he *earned* his right to the name "Three Continents Watson".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When asked what he remembered about the day that everything changed for Captain Watson, he would always say the same two things instantly.

 

Fire and blood.

 

The hot sun was like fire on his skin.

 

He was on patrol. They weren’t expecting anything to happen. Their particular route had been quiet for as long as they’d known it. So while the guns stayed and the body armour stayed, helmets had been replaced with their navy blue berets, complete with clipped white and red feather plume. A method of humanising them to the natives.

 

The sand was fire beneath their jeep’s tires, but firm. No chance of slipping or skidding, unless you weren’t paying attention.

 

While the banter amongst the patrol was friendly, they were still all business.

 

Then there was red fire. Yellow fire. White fire.

 

An explosion threw them out of their jeep. A second one rocked them backwards, scrabbling for cover.

 

Hot sand burned John’s hands as he crawled behind a rock.

 

It was only when he was behind it and temporarily safe that he realized that Steve, his Lt. had been protecting him with his body the whole time.

 

            “You idiot!” John snapped, “You could have been killed!”

            “Better I get injured than you, Doc.” Steve grinned without remorse, “Cause if you’re down who’s going to treat _us_?”

            “Down!” Nick yelled, moments after gunfire broke out.

 

John’s basic kit was down and out, before anyone had needed to reload.

 

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There was blood. Blood drops staining the sand. Blood soaking into fabric. Blood smears on rocks. Blood running down limbs.

 

His job wasn’t to fight… Not then. He was to keep the rest of his patrol alive. It was in the Geneva Conventions. Against all his training. He was not to attack. He was to protect and defend.

 

No more. No less.

 

            “This is Captain Watson of Patrol Unit Theta calling Base.” John yelled into his radio, “We are under heavy fire. Request back-up immediately. I repeat, we are under heavy fire. Requesting immediate back-up. Over.”

            “Captain Watson, this is Base. What are you facing? Over.”

            “I don’t know. Started with a bomb. Possibly an IED. At least a dozen shooters. Automatics. Sounds like H&K. But I can’t be certain. Send back-up. Over.”

            “What is your location? Over.”

            “We’re about thirty klicks into our assigned patrol. Just about six minutes past the Oasis. Over.” John replied.

            “Hold your position. Over and out.”

            “Not like we were going anywhere.” John muttered.

 

Crouched down, he pulled off his beret. No need to advertise his movements or position.

 

All around him, he could hear the retaliatory fire of his patrol.

 

He had to do his job. Both of them.

 

He was RAMC. His job was to keep them alive.

 

He was also _technically_ the highest ranking man among them. So his job was to bring them home.

 

Only technically, because really the RAMC didn’t have command over regular troops in anything but medical details. However John didn’t really consider himself anything other than their Captain.

 

The job for a medic was to keep them alive. The job for a superior was to bring them home.

 

Both were the same job if you looked at it from one angle.

 

Well, he had four men to keep alive and bring home.

 

Carefully peering around his rock, John calculated where the shooters were.

 

The code for the RAMC was that they should not fight. Except in defence of themselves or their patients.

 

John mentally extended that to mean those who would _become_ his patients, should the enemy harm them.

 

He drew his gun. Waited for a lull in the firefight. Then popped up from behind his rock and fired.

 

It wasn’t quite where he had hoped to put the bullet. But a throat shot was as good as a head-shot.

 

It put the bastard down. That was all that mattered in the end. When it all came down to it.

 

            “Leave the trick shots to the cowboys and civis and amateurs,” As John’s gun instructor had always said, “Long as they ain’t a threat anymore then it’s a good shot.”

 

One down. Eleven to go.

 

But that was for later. Steve’s left arm was bleeding. Even from a distance John could see that both Nick and Muzaffar had head injuries. Possible concussion if he was any guess. But he would have to cross to their rock to find out. He couldn’t even see Sheena; she was beyond and behind Nick and Muzaffar.

 

One pressure bandage later and John felt secure in the knowledge that Steve wouldn’t be dying on him just yet.

 

            “Cover me!” John yelled, moments before he duck-ran over to Nick and Muzaffar.

 

Surprisingly he made it without incident. Not even a few holes in his kit.

 

            “Status?” He asked, pulling a cloth out his kit.

            “You tell us, Doc.” Muzaffar laughed, “I’ve got blood in my eye.”

            “Just a gash.” John ran his fingers over it, careful not to obstruct the line of fire, “Head wounds always bleed. Hold still.”

 

It didn’t take much, just a small plaster on Muzaffar’s forehead.

 

Nick had come out of the IED worse, missing the bottom half of one of his ears. And with several cuts and gashes. John bandaged him up as best he could. The only thing he could be glad of was that the jeep had protected them from the worst of the bomb. Otherwise the injuries would be much worse.

 

            “Sheena?” John called over to her.

            “I’m okay!” She replied from behind her rock, “Are the two lugheads alright? Muz and Nick whacked their heads pretty hard in that explosion.”

            “They got rocks for brains!” Steve shouted over, “Ain’t nothing going to harm their heads. Right Doc?”

            “I want Nick to see a Plastic Surgeon, but apart from that… Nothing too serious.” John retorted.

            “Hell, Doc.” Muzaffar laughed, “Ain’t nothing they can do. That’s the way he’s always looked. Ugly!”

 

John shook his head at the banter. It was always the same. Ribbing and joking around.

 

            “Sheena,” John barked, “Get over here. I don’t like that we’re so spread out.”

            “Move Steve first.” Sheena countered, “I see that bandage.”

            “I want _both_ of you in the group.” John fired back, “I just want concentrated fire for when we move _to_ Steve. He’s got the largest rock.”

            “I know that what he always _says_ , Doc.” Sheena retorted, “But there’s no need to confirm it!”

            “Oh, ha ha!” Steve chimed in, “It ain’t bragging if it’s true.”

            “People!” John cut across the banter, “Patel! Shift that butt!”

 

Sheena moved as the rest of the patrol provided cover fire.

 

            “Damnit Sheena!” John swore as she crouched down next to him, “You’ve twisted your ankle, haven’t you?”

            “It’s nothing.” Sheena protested.

            “It’s not nothing.” John countered, “It’s an injury that won’t help. And that we _have_ to take into account. A sprained ankle could put you out of commission permanently, if you don’t care for it properly.”

            “Yeah, but I ain’t gonna die from it, Doc.” Sheena retorted, “Long as we survive this, I’ll let you do what you want afterwards. Kay?”

            “Alright.” John knew that he couldn’t fight her, not right then.

 

They quickly moved over to Steve. John was relieved to see that he hadn’t managed to bleed through the pressure bandage yet.

 

John stayed low, while the other four kept firing. He just kept passing them clips for their guns. Though he was starting to worry that the back-up had not turned up. And they were running out of bullets.

 

Fortunately they were also running out of enemy. There were fewer shots than there had been previously.

 

More fire. Red fire. Yellow fire. White fire.

 

A second explosion.

 

It had been a grenade.

 

John hadn’t even seen it land. The patrol had though. As one they had moved to protect him from the explosion.

 

He pushed his way out from the pile of limp bodies. His gun was firm in his hands. Three quick shots and he had no more enemies to worry about. They’d thought their grenade had taken out _all_ of the patrol.

 

John knew why the others had protected him. It was instinct. It was habit. It was ingrained.

 

But that didn’t stop him from thinking that it was spectacularly _stupid_!

 

However they were still alive. So he could yell at them later.

 

He did have to treat them. So that he _could_ yell at them later.

 

He hauled them apart and started to treat them. There wasn’t much he could really do. Apply pressure bandages. Start plasma expanders. Provide morphine. Intubate Sheena (the shrapnel had torn open her throat and she was drowning in her own blood). Set limbs.

 

Finally John was desperately trying to staunch the blood coming from Steve. The Lt’s only chance at survival depended upon continuous pressure being applied until the medi-evac arrived.

 

The others were stable, but would need further medical care soon. Plasma expanders and basic pressure bandages wouldn’t… _Couldn’t_ keep them alive forever.

 

All the time John didn’t stop talking.

 

            “You are not bloody Superman! I don’t _need_ you to sacrifice yourself for me! God, Steve! What did you do? Air goes in and out, blood goes round and round, any variation on this is bad! Remember? You’re bleeding like a stuck pig!”

            “Don’t think that’s the saying, Doc.” Nick managed to get out.

            “And I object to it.” Muzaffar added.

            “And you two!” John fired, “Broken limbs are nature’s way of telling you to slow down! I’m a soldier. Just like you! I don’t need any special consideration. I don’t need any special treatment. I knew what I was signing up for!”

            “That’s not it, Doc.” Steve hissed from beneath John’s hands.

            “Shut up!” John instructed, “You’re going to _live_ , damn you! And it’s not being helped by your talking!”

            “He’s right though,” Muzaffar nodded, “It’s not that we think _less_ of you. It’s just that you’re the Doc. If you’re injured… If you’re dying… Who’s going to take care of us? Who’s going to keep us alive?”

            “Who’s going to bring us home?” Nick whispered.

            “Then don’t you dare die on me!” John ordered, “Don’t you dare! And if you do something this stupid again I’ll _hit_ you! I can cure a lot of things. But I can’t cure _stupid_!”

 

That got a hacking cough from all parties. The closest they could come to a laugh.

 

John heard at least two vehicles approaching.

 

            “Doc!” Muzaffar called out, “Run! They’re not ours. They’re not _ours_!”

            “I’m not leaving you.” John replied, “In Arduis Fidelis.”

            “That’s stupidity.” Nick hissed.

            “If I move, Steve dies. I am _not_ going to let that happen.” John fired back, “If they want to kill us, then they have to kill _all_ of us.”

 

John knew they were in a hopeless situation. He was the only one of his patrol able to wield a weapon. And he couldn’t move his hands from Steve.

 

He heard them get out of the vehicles. But he didn’t turn his head. Looking wouldn’t help. Moving wouldn’t help. What would happen, would happen. He couldn’t leave Steve.

 

He heard them approach. Heard Nick and Muzaffar’s entreaties to leave them.

 

He felt them behind him. Felt a rifle pushed into his back.

 

            “Get up!” The order was barked.

            “No.” John replied, despite the rifle barrel poking him in the back, “If I move he dies.”

 

A shot rang out.

 

            “And now he’s dead. Get up!”

 

John rose to his feet. Eyes not moving from Steve’s face, now ruined forever by a bullet. Fists clenched tightly by his side.

 

            “What about the others?” One of the enemy asked.

            “Leave them. They’re dying. Would only slow us down. We don’t need them. We have what we came for.”

 

John stayed silent as they bound him and moved him to a jeep. He noticed that they also brought his medical kit with them

 

He sent up prayers of one sort or another that the back-up would arrive quickly.

 

It was his patrol’s only hope.

 

He wasn’t too surprised that they blindfolded him.

 

He had no fear that they would kill him. At least not yet. They had made their intentions clear on that front. They wanted him alive.

 

He had no chance of escape. A guard sat on either side of him. Bound and blind he wouldn’t last two minutes in any attempt.

 

Better to wait and listen. There would be another time. Another chance.

 

If he had learnt anything over the years, it was the benefits of patience.

 

Instead of worrying, he subscribed to the old tenant:

 

            “Sleep when you can. You never know when you might get another chance.”

 

After all, he had no way of identifying where he was going. They might drive around in circles for hours just to disorientate him. So worrying about it wouldn’t help.

 

Behind the blindfold, he closed his eyes and started to doze.

 

Fire and blood haunted his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

John woke up as they hauled him out of the vehicle. He was inside some sort of structure. It was cooler, but the cold was the cold of air-conditioning. Not the cold of the desert at night.

 

He knew it wasn’t unusual for a mind to focus on odd things in stressful situations, but it was rather frustrating that the central thought running around his mind was that he was hungry.

 

He also wanted a bath and a clean set of clothes. So he could get Steve’s blood off him.

 

He’d also like very much not to be a prisoner right now, thank you very much. But he didn’t see that happening any time soon. So food, bath and clean clothes would be very much appreciated.

 

Oh, and the blindfold removed.

 

He walked where they directed him, mainly with pushes and shoves. But they caught him before he ever hit the floor on the one occasion he tripped. So they clearly weren’t intending on him being harmed right then.

 

He was forced into a kneeling position on a stone floor. He easily settled, knowing that he could be in for the long haul in that position.

 

Then the blindfold was torn off, John blinked in the sudden light. He quickly took in his surroundings.

 

He was indoors, as he had guessed. A room with no windows, but bright lights. The walls were heavy stone. The men present were wearing blue marked with a red snake. Apart from the one who was probably the leader, he was dressed in red with a silver snake.

 

All faces were covered apart from the eyes and eyebrows on the lower ranks.

 

            “Why have you brought him here?” The leader demanded, “Prisoners go in the Slave Pit.”

            “He’s a medic.” One of those who had grabbed him declared, “You said we weren’t going to get a replacement for Peterson any time soon.”

            “So you stole one. Good thinking.” The leader was proud, “That’s the sort of thinking that leads to promotion. Will you serve us?”

            “Do I have a choice?” John asked rhetorically.

            “No. And for each one of my men you let die. I will kill a prisoner.”

            “Then I want a deal.” John kept his voice calm and steady, despite knowing what rode on his words, “In addition to treating your men, I want permission to treat the prisoners.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I’m a doctor.” John replied, “Because they are my fellow prisoners. Because I can.”

            “It would save us having to replace slaves.” One of the rank and file commented, “They’re tough to break at first.”

            “Okay then. Agreed. What is your name?”

            “Doctor Watson.” John stated.

 

The RAMC usually didn’t state their medical titles. Preferring to stress their military credentials. But it was best to play up the doctor image for now. Down play the soldier part. Might give him an advantage later.

 

After all, doctors were harmless. It was the military that were dangerous.

 

            “Well then, Doctor, we’d best take you to your quarters.”

 

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John was pushed, not too unkindly, into a room. His hands freed only moments before.

 

            “These are your quarters.” The captor declared, “There is no need for you to leave. There will be a guard outside at all times. Should you need anything ask.”

            “Can I have some food and water?” John asked instantly, his hands rubbing his wrists.

 

He knew he wouldn’t have much damage on his wrists. He hadn’t fought the bindings at any point. But they were still sore.

 

He looked around as the door shut behind him. Crucially _without_ being told that he would get any food.

 

The room was clearly an infirmary. A dozen beds lined the room with blue blankets and white pillows.

 

It made him think of an old story that Harry had read to him years ago.

 

            “In an old house in Paris.” He murmured to himself.

 

He noted two doors leading off to the side, one on either side. Moving slowly he approached the door on the left. Opening it he saw a small doctor’s office. Desk, chair, bookcase, filing cabinet, clock, computer, notepad, pen, pencil, calculator.

 

Two doors led away from the room. One to the left and one to the right.

 

He checked the left hand door first. It was a storage room, complete with a small pharmacy. He would need to do a stock-take later. See what he had to work with.

 

He moved to the second door. Behind it was a bedroom and just off from that was a bathroom.

 

Before he had fully realized what he was doing, John had stripped and was in the bathroom, warming up the shower water.

 

It was barely warm enough, before he stepped in, desperate to get the blood off of his skin, out of his hair.

 

He didn’t know how long he’d been in there. But it was until he _felt_ clean.

 

He grabbed a towel off the radiator. Started to towel himself dry.

 

Stinging in his palms drew his attention to them. Four crescent shaped cuts in the centre of each of his palms. Fresh blood oozing from them.

 

Once he was dry, with a towel wrapped around his waist, John moved into the office, in search of a basic first aid kit.

 

He knew what the marks were. Not too hard to figure out. He’d clenched his fists so tightly after they’d shot Steve that his fingernails had cut into his skin. He’d not even noticed at the time. He’d been so angry.

 

He found the kit and retreated to the bedroom. He applied antiseptic cream to the cuts and to the numerous cuts, scrapes and nicks he’d gained in the short battle.

 

He was initially surprised at the lack of bullet-creases, but quickly came to the answer.

 

The soldiers had been searching… _Hunting_ for a medic. He’d been betrayed by the red crosses on his arm-bands. Marked for capture by his own uniform.

 

They’d deliberately tried not to harm him. He was no good to them dead.

 

He carefully applied a protective barrier over the cuts. No need to apply a bandage that way. It’d be sloppy as he could only use one hand. And bandaged hands would just get in his way.

 

His best way to survive his captivity was to be useful. Bandaged hands would reduce that. He needed to survive. If he survived, he could get out of this in the end.

 

Survival had to be his first priority. Whoever it was who had captured him would be found eventually. They weren’t exactly being discrete. Attacking a British Patrol. Leaving potential survivors. Capturing slaves.

 

 _Somebody_ would know that there was an enemy in the area. And somebody would find them.

 

John pulled on his boxer shorts and looked at his clothing.

 

He wasn’t going to put Steve’s blood back on.

 

He opened the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. Looking for clothes that might just fit.

 

He found a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a cotton shirt that fit. Fortunately, for John’s peace of mind, none of them emblazoned with the snake symbol. He did _not_ want to identify with his captors. That way lay madness.

 

He ran his hands over his uniform. Carefully removing the badges. He laid them out on the top of the chest of drawers. Behind them he placed the belt, glad that it at least had been spared the blood.

 

His beret was still stuffed in his pocket. The feather was a little bent and battered. But generally okay. He hung it off the mirror on the chest of drawers.

 

He looked at his vest. Once the blood was cleaned off it, it’d be fine.

 

Same with his shirt and trousers. The boots needed polishing to be back to inspection standard. But generally everything would be alright after cleaning and a bit of sewing.

 

Not that John had any intention of wearing it any time soon.

 

It was the uniform of a soldier.

 

That wasn’t who he needed to be right then… Or rather it wasn’t who he needed to _appear_ to be. The jeans and t-shirt and over-shirt would do the job good enough. Slightly overly large on him, they made him look smaller than he actually was.

 

He moved out into the main infirmary. A tray was resting on a bedside table, a sandwich, glass of water and chocolate bar on it.

 

Bare feet padding lightly over the floor, John moved to perch on the bed to eat his meal.

 

He looked around his gilded cage. He would stay strong. He would endure.

 

This would not be forever.


	3. Chapter 3

It took John nearly three hours to do a full stock take of the equipment and medication. Including the small diagnostic and operating room on the opposite side to his quarters.

 

He then did a quick rummage through the medical files in the office.

 

After that he sat and wrote up a list of what he required. He would address his captors about it in the morning.

 

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The next day John was up at what was his usual time. Before he left his room, he ran through a short session of PT. No need to get sloppy. No need to get out of shape. But no need to advertise it either. The bedroom door locked and there were no cameras in the room.

 

This was his domain. His hide-hole.

 

And as long as he didn’t upset his captors, it would likely remain so.

 

He got dressed in the same clothes as he had found yesterday.

 

He found his list on the desk in the office where he’d left it.

 

Still not bothering to put on shoes or socks he padded out into the main infirmary.

 

It was empty. Just as he had expected. No need to send anyone to him.

 

Well, he wasn’t going to get anything done just waiting around. He had to keep his Oath. To do what he must to the best of his ability.

 

He had to consciously tell himself _not_ to march to the door. He was not a Soldier right then. He could _not_ be a Soldier right then. He had to be a Doctor. He had to put Captain Watson on a back shelf.

 

It was time for Doctor Watson to come forward.

 

He knocked on the door.

 

Time to start.

 

Judging by how quickly the door was opened the guard was _not_ expecting him to knock.

 

            “Yes?” The guard snapped.

            “What time will I be getting breakfast? And could you inform your leader that I would appreciate a word with him, at his convenience?” John asked gently.

 

If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the situation, John would have started laughing at the guard’s face. His words had completely thrown the man for a loop.

 

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It was about two hours later, after a breakfast of toast and marmalade, that the leader entered the room.

 

John had gotten thoroughly bored and was making origami animals… Badly. He’d never bothered learning how.

 

            “Sir.” John stayed where he was, perched on a bed.

            “What do you want, Doctor?”

            “Firstly, how would you like me to address you?”

            “First Lieutenant.” The response was immediate. And also proud. John kept quiet about his rank. It was possible that it hadn’t been noticed.

            “Very well, Lieutenant,” John nodded, “I have a list of medications and equipment I am going to need, if I am to treat your men to the best of my ability. I will do the best with what I have, but my ability will be greatly increased by these. Also, I need computer access, to enable better record keeping. No disrespect meant towards your previous medic, but he was a poor record keeper and I have no legible medical records for any of your personnel.”

            “No records?” The Lieutenant blinked, “He had so many files. You can see them.”

            “The files are there.” John sighed, “But they’re either filled with scrap paper or empty. He managed to create the image of a perfectly organised office, and yet had very little work to do to keep it that way. I have no information on your men.”

            “You can’t work without those files?”

            “Not effectively. I don’t know about pre-existing conditions, allergies, life-styles… The list goes on. I _need_ up to date information.” John explained, “Otherwise I could unintentionally kill someone. I take my Oath very seriously.”

            “Can you recreate these files?” The Lieutenant stated pulling a chair over to sit down.

            “I would need to do individual health assessments on every person here.” John replied, “I am willing. But I don’t know how long it will take. Give me a kettle and a supply of coffee and I can work a sixteen hour day without ill-effect. Twenty if I push it. Though then I can only do it for three days and I’ll be out of commission for two.”

            “You will do that?”

            “If that is what is necessary, yes.”

            “How long will each one take?”

            “Up to forty five minutes. Assume fifty. I can get about nineteen done a day. Maybe twenty.” John thought it over.

            “I have a hundred and fifty men, including myself on this base.”

            “Then I have a lot of work to do.” John sighed, “I would also like to know, Lieutenant, at what time I will be receiving meals. Seeing as I rather doubt that you will allow me access to anything beyond this. My cage.”

            “You are smarter than you look.” The Lieutenant acknowledged, “Yes. This is your cage. You will have everything you need. Everything you need to serve Cobra.”

            “Thank you.” John smiled.

 

Inwardly he acknowledged the name. It meant nothing to him. But it was a start. Something to tell him what all of this was a part of.

 

Outwardly he showed no interest in the name. He was a Doctor. He was _just_ a Doctor.

 

            “You start tomorrow, Doc.” The Lieutenant got up, putting the chair back, “I will get you what you require. Breakfast is at eight. Lunch at one. Supper at eight.”

            “Once again thank you.” John nodded.

 

The Lieutenant left. Leaving John to his paper animals.

 

Slowly, steadily and deliberately, John tore a piece of paper into a rectangle. He then rolled it into a tube from the corner. Once he had tightened it, he squeezed it gently to form curves.

 

A paper snake joined his collection.

 

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To be perfectly honest, under normal situations, John quite enjoyed performing health assessments. It allowed him an opportunity to get to know the people he would, no doubt, be treating later. Allowed them to get to know him as a person. Not as a mysterious, scary medical person.

 

Unfortunately there were two common images of doctors in most people’s minds. They were either intellectual creatures who viewed themselves as above everyone. Or they were friendly, kindly, village doctors.

 

John was hoping to establish himself as the second of the two. He preferred it personally. But it would also, once again, establish him as harmless.

 

It was just past half eight in the morning, and John was waiting for his first patient.

 

            “I was ordered to report here, Doctor?” The soldier entered.

            “Have a seat.” John smiled, “This is all just routine. I need to give everyone a health assessment, so that I can do my job effectively. I will have to ask you some questions, if you could answer truthfully and as accurately as you can, it would help me.”

            “Sure.” The soldier shrugged.

            “What’s your name?”

            “Clayton Bolster.”

 

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            “Kurt Greb.”

 

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            “Nita Edlund.”

 

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            “Clinton Stickles.”

 

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            “What’s your job?”

            “Why is that important?”

            “Because some medication that I might prescribe for conditions might not be suitable for some jobs. Such as prescribing a drug that can cause sedating effects to a pilot would be dangerous. But not for a cook. And if a computer expert had high blood pressure, I would advise exercise. But that would be a bit pointless for a PT Instructor.”

            “Oh, I get it… I’m a tank jockey.”

 

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            “Infantry.”

 

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            “Tele-viper… Communications.”

 

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            “Night Raven… Pilot.”

 

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            “Wrench Jockey.

 

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            “Cook.”

 

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            “Which shift do you work?”

            “Mornings. Six till two.”

 

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            “Afternoon. Two till ten.”

 

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            “Night. Ten till six.”

 

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            “Do you have any allergies?”

            “No.”

 

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            “Cat hair.”

 

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            “Hayfever.”

 

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            “Penicillin… And Erythromycin.”

            “Awkward combination.”

            “That’s what they all say.”

 

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            “Lidocaine.”

            “I’ll have to remember that one.”

 

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            “Latex.”

 

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            “Not that I know of. But my mum’s got a few.”

            “We’ll see how we go.”

 

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            “Lactose intolerant?”

            “I’ll say that counts.”

 

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            “Any medical conditions?”

            “Hayfever?”

            “I’ll put that down.”

 

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            “No.”

 

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            “Cobra doesn’t take weaklings!”

 

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            “Diabetes… But don’t tell anyone? I have to use insulin.”

            “This is all confidential.”

 

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            “Asthma. But I’m controlled.”

 

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            “Cobra only recruits the healthy.”

 

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            “How would you describe your diet?”

            “You’ve seen the crap the kitchen serves.”

 

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            “Pretty good.”

 

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            “Lousy.”

 

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            “I’m probably not that healthy. Computer geek. I live off coffee and chocolate. Plus I’m on the night shift, so I get left-overs served again for my lunch at midnight.”

 

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            “I don’t like vegetables.”

 

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A little over a week later, John was transcribing all his notes onto the computer system, drinking heavily from a coffee mug. One thing never failed to amaze him… People would talk about _anything_ to distance themselves from a physical exam, particularly the embarrassing parts.

 

Though, right then, all John wanted to do was finish his transcribing and sleep… For about a week.

 

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In the end, he just slept in for an extra hour the next day. He was getting used to his current situation. As much as he hated it, he was getting used to it.

 

He was still keeping up his exercise routine. Every morning and night. Even despite the long hours he’d been pulling. It was a way to remind himself that he wasn’t just a Doctor. That he wasn’t just what he was pretending to be. He had to be careful.

 

He had to be careful not to let his mask consume him.

 

He had to be careful not to let his mask slip.

 

Caught between a rock and a hard place.

 

Yet he had to keep his Oath.

 

He was eating his breakfast in the office when he heard the voice.

 

            “Doc?”

 

For a moment John thought it was his patrol… His unit… His men.

 

He jumped to his feet and had he not been so tired, he would have run to the door.

 

But he recognised the voice as it called out a second time.

 

            “Doc?”

 

It wasn’t one of his men. It was Marcus Sharp, one of the wrench jockeys, as they called themselves.

 

            “Yes?” John opened the door and stepped out.

            “I caught myself on something, can you take a look at it?” Sharp had his right arm clutched to his chest, blood dripping through his fingers.

            “Of course.” John smiled, “Have a seat. What were you doing?”

            “We got a new shipment of vehicles.” Sharp replied, as John collected some equipment, “To replace the ones we lost in combat and because production is increasing, so there’s more of us here. But all the vehicles have to be retrofitted.”

            “Hold still. This might sting.” John laid the arm down on a small side table.

 

To be honest, it wasn’t more than a shallow cut, already starting to scab over. Under normal circumstances, John didn’t believe for an _instant_ that Sharp would have sought medical aid.

 

But it was always the way. The moment a new medic joined a unit, he or she would be inundated with small petty things by a good portion of the unit. It was their way of sounding out the medic.

 

Testing him.

 

Was he patient? Was he kind? Did he know what he was doing? How did he react?

 

The Medical Assessments had allowed them some information about him. But they had been on John’s terms.

 

Now they were testing him on _their_ terms.

 

Oh, it was all unofficial, but John had been expecting it. Soldiers were soldiers no matter what allegiance.

 

Calmly John started to wash out the wound, being careful in case there were metal shavings or grease in the long shallow scratch.

 

            “What do you have to fit?” John asked, more to make conversation that anything else.

            “Mainly filters.” Sharp shrugged, “Sand gets in the engine and we’ll end up killing it. Plus they never come with the GPS units. It’s like the Siegies don’t think things through. They’re the ones who _insist_ everything has GPS tracking. But don’t sort it out before they ship it to us…”

 

John gently dressed the wound and kept the conversation flowing. He knew that his continual survival depended upon the good will of his captors.

 

It was highly unlikely that whoever and _whatever_ Cobra was that it had signed the Geneva Convention. So John had no protection, beyond what he could garner with his own abilities.

 

One wrong move and he could either end up dead or with the other prisoners being used as slaves.

 

And he had no illusions that he would be better off down there. He was safer where he was.

 

It also allowed him to keep his Oath.

 

He eventually sent Sharp on his way. Though he wasn’t surprised that for the next few days he was inundated with patients.

 

A pilot with eyestrain, from too many computer games late at night.

 

A cook with a grease burn.

 

A sprained ankle from a computer tech, whom he also persuaded to set up the technical diagnostic equipment in the Infirmary.

 

A multitude of cuts and scratches and bruises from various people.

 

A minor concussion.

 

A tank jockey with the starting of a cold.

 

An infantryman with developing blisters.

 

Minor things really. But John treated them all with the same attitude. He never let himself seem annoyed or frustrated, no matter _how_ he was feeling inside.

 

He had to keep his Oath.

 

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John had been hoping to extend his medical examinations to the prisoners. But he hadn’t expected it. He could see that Lieutenant Saini (Odd name, but not the worst John had met, at least he could pronounce it) would never relent to let him do so.

 

So John had put up a token protest at the denial. It was expected. And he had to do what was expected.

 

What he _had_ been able to negotiate was that all new prisoners would be brought to him, so that he could check that they were fit to work. He didn’t ask what would happen if he said they weren’t. He both didn’t want to know and knew what the answer would be.

 

He also had an agreement that if any prisoner was falling below what the Lieutenant deemed “satisfactory” work levels they would also be brought to him to see if they were fit for work.

 

Again, not hard to guess what would happen if he said they weren’t.

 

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It was nearly two weeks before John got to meet one of his fellow prisoners.

 

The prisoner in question was hauled into the infirmary, chained and gagged. Yet he was still fighting them the whole way.

 

The man was almost thrown to the ground, and still tried to kick a nearby ankle.

 

            “Prisoner for treatment.” Oliver Rudaski, an infantryman, declared.

            “Key.” John held out a hand, moving towards them, making sure that he wouldn’t be kicked.

            “What?” Gilles Klein, a pilot, frowned.

            “You can hardly expect me to treat him, while he’s all tied up.” John pointed out, “I can’t work like that.”

 

A key was placed in John’s palm.

 

            “Right. Now get out.” John instructed.

            “What?” Rudaski stared, “No, Doc. We’re not doing that.”

            “Doctor Patient Confidentiality.” John stated firmly, “I will _not_ break it. Out.”

 

In the background of the confrontation, no one noticed the sudden stillness of the prisoner.

 

John held Rudaski’s gaze, until the man got uncomfortable and left. Klein only a step behind him. John didn’t move until the door shut behind them.

 

Then he turned and moved to release the prisoner from the handcuffs.

 

What happened next didn’t surprise him. Not really.

 

It was a perfectly natural reaction.

 

The perfect response of a trained soldier.

 

John was pinned to the floor, with his attacker kneeling on his arms, and one arm pressed firmly across John’s throat, threatening to cut off his oxygen supply.

 

            “Move or scream and I’ll kill you.” The slightly wild-eyed prisoner declared.


	4. Chapter 4

            “How?” John replied softly, “Choking me would take too long. And you can’t break my neck with a broken wrist? Or is it your arm? I can see you’re favouring it.”

            “Shut up.” The prisoner snarled after a pause, “I will kill you.”

            “Go ahead.” John shrugged, “Just remember I could take you down at the moment. Even given my current situation. Also I’m completely bleeding _useless_ as a hostage. They don’t care for me. There’s no other exit than the way you came in. Currently guarded by _three_ soldiers. There’s no weapons in here.”

            “You have _something_ , Snake. Why should I believe you?”

            “Do you _see_ the mark of Cobra on me? Any snake, at all?”

 

John felt the pressure on his throat ease as the man pulled back slightly.

 

            “You work for them.” The accusation was clear.

            “I’m a prisoner, as much as you are. These walls are _my_ cage.”

            “Prisoners go in the Slave Pit.”

            “Their last doctor died. I don’t know how. I was taken to replace him.”

            “Why you?”

            “I was convenient?” John wasn’t sure himself really, “I was marked by the Red Crosses I wore. Easy to spot. They took me away from a patient. Shot him, because I wouldn’t leave.”

            “He’s dead?”

            “If he isn’t he’s the only guy I know who could survive a bullet to the frontal lobe and a gushing chest wound. I was literally holding him together when they arrived.”

            “And afterwards?”

            “I knew that if I didn’t go, they’d kill my other three patients. No need for them to say it. I knew it. So I surrendered.”

            “You’re a good man.” The man rocked back and stood up.

 

John scrabbled to his feet. He could have turned the tables at any point, he knew that. He had _purposely_ not fought when he was taken down.

 

But fighting wouldn’t have helped.

 

            “Let me look at your arm.” John held out a hand.

            “Why do you work for them?” The man asked, sitting down on a bed.

 

John sat down a little further down the bed.

 

            “Because my status as a doctor is the only thing that is keeping me alive… The fact that I’m useful to them. And I was told, in no uncertain terms, that if I let one of them die, they’ll kill one of you.”

            “You’re in a tough spot. But at least it’s nicer up here than down in the Pit.”

            “I don’t know.” John shrugged, “I haven’t seen the sky in over two weeks. Haven’t been outside these walls either. I’m restricted to the Infirmary. Ever since they picked me up.”

            “That sucks.” The man sighed, “But at least you don’t have to work in the mines.”

            “Mines?” John frowned.

            “We’re digging for diamonds. Basically Blood Diamonds. They’ve got a real seam of the things.”

            “And it probably finances this operation.” John muttered, “Great. How many of you are down there?”

            “About fifty? Twenty five or so soldiers. Ten insurgents. And the rest are locals.”

            “Women? Children?” John pressed.

            “A couple of women. No children. Thank God.”

            “How’d they grab you?” John asked.

            “I was stupid.” The man was embarrassed, “I’m Intelligence Corp.”

            “Green slime.” The term was out of John’s mouth before he thought twice, “So you were looking for them?”

            “I thought this would be a small time operation. Fifty men? I wasn’t expecting this many. I never even got close.”

            “So you know who they are?”

            “Cobra. You don’t?”

            “Wasn’t exactly paying attention. I go where I’m needed.”

            “Cobra are a terrorist organisation, set on conquering the world. This is just a small part of a much bigger picture.”

            “Oh great.” John muttered, “And I’ve got one of them outside my door at all hours of the day.”

            “Better than us.” The man laughed, “We get five watching us during the day. Two outside our cell at night, and two outside the door to the cell block. Don’t know why they bother. We’re all in the same damn cell.”

            “Hey, that only makes it one guard to ten prisoners at the worst point.” John pointed out.

            “True. So what’s the verdict, Doc?” John couldn’t help the flinch that the name caused.

            “Fractured wrist.” John declared, “I’ll need to x-ray it to figure out how bad. Hold still while I get a splint.”

 

John quietly splinted the arm, before ordering the man to follow him into the diagnostic room, with the x-ray.

 

            “Hey, Doc.” The man frowned, “I saw that flinch. What’s up?”

            “They call me that.” John confessed, “They only asked once and ever since, I’ve been Doctor or Doc. No one calls me by name. I mean, I was _used_ to it. It’s what I was called before…”

 

John tailed off.

 

            “Before you were captured.” The man smiled softly, “Hey, it’s okay. I understand. Things change. Particularly when violence gets involved. What would you like me to call you?”

            “John.” John replied simply, as he studied the x-rays, “Yes, I thought so. A closed reduction. I just need to cast it and you should be okay to go.”

            “I’m Alan.”

            “Alright, Alan.” John nodded, “I’ll just get the plaster of paris bandages.”

 

            “It’s short for Alan-A-Dale.” Alan declared as John came back in, “Nickname.”

            “Well then, Alan-A-Dale,” John grinned, “Should I be expecting Friar Tuck and Will Scarlett to be turning up later? Or just Robin Hood?”

            “No.” Alan snorted, “Though we might get Sir Lancelot and Merlin at some point.”

            “I think you’re mixing your stories there.” John laughed, “But I don’t mind.”

            “It’s not hopeless, John.” Alan smiled, “You just need to hold out. My unit will find us. Just hold on. Go along with what they want.”

            “I’m not a child.” John protested.

            “But you’re not a soldier.” Alan chided.

 

            *But I _am_!* John wanted to counter, but he couldn’t.

 

If even his fellow prisoners thought he was just a Doctor, he would be safer. If _no one_ remembered that he was a soldier they would relax around him.

 

So John held his tongue.

 

            “It’ll be hard.” Alan sighed, “I know. But just keep your head down.”

            “How long?” John asked.

            “I don’t know.” Alan replied, “I’m sorry. I don’t. But they’ll come. They don’t leave a man behind.”

            “You be careful, too.” John told him, “I’ll tell them to stick you with pushing the cart… I presume there _are_ carts?”

            “Yes.” Alan nodded, “Can’t you just write me a biff chit?”

            “If you can’t work, what do you _think_ they’ll do to you?” John challenged.

            “You think they’ll kill me.” Alan stated more than asked.

            “Yes. I can’t be responsible for that.” John said, “I _have_ to keep you fit to work. First do no harm.”

            “I understand.” Alan breathed, “You have to keep your oath.”

            “Yes.” John agreed, “I have to keep my Oath.”

            “It’s okay.” Alan smiled, “Just hang in here. We’ll get out of this.”

            “I’ll see if I can talk them into letting me check your wrist every couple of days.” John finished the wrapping, “You’ll also need to keep this dry. Can you do that?”

            “Easy enough.” Alan nodded, “At least until the showers. Every third day.”

            “I’ll get you a cover for it.” John jogged off again.

 

Not long afterwards, Alan was ready to be taken back to the Pit. John had forced as many ibuprofen and paracetamol tablets into his pockets as he could.

 

            “I’ll need to see him again in three days.” John spoke firmly as the two guards came in.

            “In a week, Doc.” The counter was automatic.

            “Agreed.” John conceded quickly.

 

It was better than he had hoped for. He wasn’t going to risk it by protesting. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.

 

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Alan was simply the first of the prisoners to be brought to John. They weren’t anywhere _near_ as regular as the Cobra soldiers, who were still dropping in. It was almost every other day.

 

Nothing serious really. Just things that would interfere with mining. Bleeding cuts. Sprained ankles. A hacking cough.

 

Very few of them really talked to him. Just answered his questions and generally treated him as if he was a kind captor.

 

John tried to reach out, but the insurgents pushed him away, the soldiers dismissed him and the locals shied away from him.

 

Only Alan would really talk to him in a friendly manner. He was hauled in every week for four weeks. Always in cuffs. Always gagged.

 

But after the first time, never reluctantly.


	5. Chapter 5

It was about eleven at night that John knocked on the door of the Infirmary.

 

            “Hey Doc.” The door was opened by the grinning guard.

            “Coffee, black, two sugars.” John handed over the mug with a small smile.

            “You always get us right.” The guard smirked, “Thought no one would learn to tell me and my twin apart. You wouldn’t _believe_ the number of times, someone’s given me his coffee.”

            “Cream, no sugar.” John stated, “You’re you, Lonnie.”

            “And you’re you, Doc… You know, I’m glad we found you and not someone else… You’ve really adapted well here.”

            “Thanks.” John sighed, leaning back against the door-jam, cradling his own mug, “I do miss the sky though.”

            “The sky?” Lonnie frowned.

            “Yeah. I haven’t seen the sky or clouds or the sun since you found me.”

 

Lonnie paused for a long moment.

 

            “No. You haven’t.” Lonnie realized, “Didn’t think about that.”

 

Lonnie drank some more coffee. Then he glanced up and down the hall.

 

            “Come on.” Lonnie said, tilting his head, “Follow me… Just don’t tell anyone I did this. I should really get permission. But it’s late.”

 

John followed Lonnie down the corridor. They didn’t go too far. Less than a hundred meters by John’s guess. Then they entered a room.

 

            “Go on.” Lonnie nodded at a wooden shuttered window, “There’s not much to see, but…”

 

John forced himself to walk not run. He couldn’t seem too eager. Couldn’t let it be known how desperate he was for this.

 

He slowly opened the shutters. Looked out.

 

It was dark. No moon. But the stars shone brightly. John could pick out a few constellations. He breathed in the cool night air.

 

For a moment he revelled in the idea that he was free and safe and far, far away from Cobra.

 

Then he refocused back on the then and there.

 

His eyes scanned the surroundings. The building was an old stone fortress. An outer wall could just be seen in the darkness. John could just about make out three guards on the wall.

 

There were no guards at the gate and none between the fortress and the wall.

 

John could see the mechanic bay just inside the wall. And the aircraft hanger just outside.

 

However what he couldn’t tell was exactly where he was.

 

For what felt like only a few minutes, John stood just enjoying the view and the vicarious freedom it gave him.

 

            “Doc?” Lonnie called out softly, “We have to head back. It’s been half an hour.”

            “Sorry.” John smiled, “Got a bit carried away.”

            “That’s alright.” Lonnie grinned, “But you need your sleep. Off to bed, Doc.”

            “Thanks.” John nodded at him, “For everything.”

 

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The next day was Alan’s sixth visit to the infirmary.

 

            “It’s healed.” John sighed as he removed the cast, “Faster than I expected, but it’s healed.”

            “You can’t lie?” Alan suggested, “I quite _enjoy_ these visits. It’s a break and someplace to relax.”

            “No. I can’t.” John shook his head, “As much as I would like too. They’d find out.”

            “Hey, just hang on in there.” Alan shook him lightly, “You just need to hang on in there.”

            “That’s what you said a month and a half ago.” John countered, “I’ve been here two months. I’m losing it.”

            “No. You’re not.” Alan was firm, “You’re tough. I can see that. Just hang in there, Little John.”

            “If I remember correctly,” John frowned, “Little John was a tall man. And I am not.”

            “Then I’ll just have to find something else to call you, John.” Alan smirked, “You’re my friend.”

            “You could just keep calling me John.”

            “Nah. I nickname all my friends. You just hang in here, Johnny.”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “Okay. Johnny-boy?”

            “No.”

            “I’ll find something.” Alan chirped.

 

As Alan was led away, John felt more alone that he had the whole time he’d been a prisoner so far.

 

He knew the loneliness was his main enemy. His main issue.

 

If he was too lonely, he would start to connect with his enemy. Eventually he might start empathising with them. Then succumbing to Stockholm’s Syndrome.

 

He had to keep his Oath.

 

He _had_ to.

 

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Two days later John was woken up at about three in the morning, by shouting.

 

He was up and out of his bedroom, without thinking. It was doubtful that it was a rescue. But there was a chance. It was unlikely, if it _were_ a rescue, that they would shoot a guy in boxers and a t-shirt… He’d learnt to sleep at least partly decent, just in case of emergency calls.

 

John emerged into the infirmary. He found Lieutenant Saini directing a small group of men to place a stretcher on a bed.

 

            “Fix her.” Lieutenant Saini pointed at the figure.

 

John ran for the gurney in the diagnostic room.

 

            “Put her on that.” John instructed. He hadn’t seen much, but he could tell the figure was female.

 

As she was transferred, he looked around the group.

 

            “You and you.” He pointed at two of them, “Change into scrubs. You’re assisting.”

            “What?” The Lieutenant frowned.

            “I _need_ assistants.” John pointed out, “They’re the cleanest people here. If you want her to live, I need help. Stop arguing. She doesn’t have much time.”

 

John effectively bullied the two men into their scrubs as he changed himself. He directed their scrubbing up, even as he did himself, then pushed the gurney into the operating room.

 

It took him longer than he was happy with to set up the anaesthesia and equipment. But if he was going to perform surgery, he was going to do it _right_!

 

            “What happened to her?” John demanded, as he started to cut her out of her clothes.

            “Her tank got hit with a mortar bomb.” One shrugged, “Completely trashed it. We got her out before it exploded.”

            “Shrapnel. Great.” John muttered.

            “Thought you would have realized, Doc.” The other added, “Given the mess.”

            “I was _hoping_.” John retorted, “Okay, I have _no_ idea how long this will take. Or what sort of mess we’re going to have here. So just do as I say.”

 

One step at a time. One thing at a time.

 

First things first.

 

            “I need five units of O Negative blood.” John hit the intercom, “No arguments. Now!”

 

He turned to the table.

 

            “Our first job is to get her stable.” John declared, “I’ll need clamps, sutures and forceps. Welcome to your crash course in emergency surgery boys.”

 

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Nearly thirteen hours later, John came out of the theatre.

 

            “What took so long?” The Lieutenant jumped to his feet, from where he was sitting on a chair.

            “I am _not_ an experienced trauma surgeon.” John retorted, exhaustion causing him to snap slightly, “My job always was to keep people alive until a trauma specialist could fix them properly. Plus I don’t have practised trauma nurses. I was switching out my assistants every two hours. To keep them sharp. I haven’t had more than four hours sleep in the last twenty four. And haven’t eaten since last night. I know _nothing_ about her. So I was having to play it safe. She was leaking blood like it was going out of fashion. And I don’t know her blood type. So I’ve basically used all of the stocks of O Neg. I had to check for shrapnel _everywhere_. I _think_ I got it. But I had to check for new pieces. Then remove what I found. There were damaged arteries to repair and veins. But I couldn’t damage nerves. She was damn lucky to survive as long as it took to get to me… Who the hell is she?”

            “An enemy of Cobra.” Saini declared, “She’s to be transported to Cobra Commander today.”

            “No way.” John fired back, “You move her and you’ll be presenting the Commander with a _corpse_. I’ll need at _least_ two weeks before I can be sure that she won’t die.”

            “You have one.” Saini stated, “And if she dies then, I’ll kill ten of the prisoners.”

            “I’ll do it.” John sighed, “I need to shower. And sleep. And eat. Not necessarily in that order.”

 

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After his shower, John found a plate of food waiting for him. Along with Nash.

 

            “Do you need any help?” John asked grabbing a chip off his plate.

            “No, Doc. Just wanted to look at her.”

            “Who is she?”

            “There’s an American unit. Dedicated to opposing the might that is Cobra. She’s one of them. I don’t know her name. But she’s a tank jockey.”

            “So you’ve seen her before?”

            “Just in a training video. Orientation video. Don’t remember her name. She wasn’t given much time. They concentrated on the really dangerous ones.”

            “Who are they?”

            “The Red-Haired She Demon and her pet ninja the Black Monkey.” Nash shrugged, “She prefers a crossbow. He favours an Uzi. Then there’s the big black guy who can wave a Browning around like it’s a hand-gun. And the Indian guy with the eagle and a tomahawk.”

            “Sounds like a scary group.” John breathed softly, “Will they be looking for her? Following you back to base?”

            “No. They attacked an outgoing shipment. Pure chance they found us. No way they followed us back. They were all scattered. And no one saw us rescue her from her tank, before it exploded. Don’t worry, Doc. We’re safe here. They won’t find us.”

            “Oh… That’s good.” John hoped his disappointment didn’t show on his face.

            “Don’t worry, Doc.” Nash grinned, “Cobra is mighty. Cobra is powerful. Cobra will be victorious. And when that happens, you’ll be well looked after.”

            “I will?” John frowned, “Why?”

            “Because you’ve looked after _us_.” Nash smiled, “You’re a good doc. You’ve helped us. You’re one of us, Doc. I think you were always meant to be. After all, we could have found _anyone_ out there. But we found you. The best doc around. We can see that. You’ve fitted in great. You’re one of us.”

            “Thanks.”

 

John picked up his bacon sandwich and tore through it ravenously. He was trying not to think about what Nash had said. What it implied.

 

Everything came back to his Oath.

 

He had to keep his Oath.

 

It was important.


	6. Chapter 6

Six days passed in what felt like no time. John tended as best he could to his patient. Never once allowing her to become aware of her surroundings. The sedation she was under wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was sufficient to keep her asleep.

 

Yes, it was probably technically unethical. But her unconscious state prevented Lieutenant Saini from sending her anywhere.

 

It was approaching eleven at night on the eve of the final day. John, as was now his habit, knocked on the door to hand over the mug of coffee to his door guard.

 

            “Thanks, Doc.” Dawson smiled at him, saluting slightly with the mug.

            “You’re welcome.” John replied, before closing the door.

 

He made his way to the bedroom. And for the first time since he had been captured, put on his army uniform. It had taken him a long time, but eventually he had managed to clean it of all the blood on it. He laced up his boots. Slowly, methodically, _purposefully_ , he did up his belt, positioned and pinned his Rods of Asclepius to his collar, and tucked his beret under his right epaulet, feather downwards.

 

He then walked towards the stock room, where he had earlier prepared his equipment.

 

As he exited the office, he heard the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor outside the door.

 

He opened the door, and stepped over the mug of morphine spiked coffee. He carefully propped Dawson upright against the wall, so that it would simply look like he was sleeping.

 

He popped the mug next to Dawson, before starting down the corridors.

 

The motto of the RAMC is: In Arduis Fidelis.

 

It means: Faithful in Adversity.

 

John had always taken it one step further.

 

 _Strength_ in adversity.

 

John wasn’t the first member of his family to serve in the military. Wasn’t the first officer.

 

His great uncle had served in the army during the Second World War. Had been captured.

 

When John was little, he had spent every visit to him listening to the experience of his great uncle in a POW camp… One of the most notorious camps in Germany. The great castle of Colditz.

 

Those stories had kept John entertained for hours. He had spent literally _months_ recreating some of the techniques that he had been told about. Everything from forging to digging to duplicating keys to codes. He had even tried to build the Colditz Cock.

 

So John knew that he had had to keep calm. Concentrate. Bide his time.

 

He was _not_ going to get a second chance if he was recaptured after escaping.

 

So he would have to make sure he only needed one chance.

 

And this was his one chance.

 

It would have to be.

 

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Creeping down the corridors, John was concentrating on the memory of the map he had found on the computer system. It appeared that Cobra’s medic hadn’t been too good at remembering how to get around, and so had saved the map for reference.

 

Weeks of studying the map had given John a perfect recollection of where he was going. And the map had helpfully included patrol routes, times and sentry locations.

 

John knew he was approaching one of the sentries, so he sped up into what looked like a panicked run.

 

            “Doc?” The sentry, Zaman, stepped into John’s path.

            “There’s a crazy woman with a crossbow.” John panted, “She’s right behind me.”

            “What did she look like?” Zaman stepped in front of John, trying to protect him from the following threat.

            “Red hair.” John got out.

 

Then he jabbed a syringe into Zaman’s neck, emptying its contents into his carotid artery.

 

Zaman dropped like a stone.

 

John dragged him into a nearby room, leaving the syringe behind. It wasn’t any use anymore. And he had more all ready for use.

 

A Doctor was always the most dangerous enemy to face. Because although they knew how to put a body back together, people always forgot that that meant they knew how to take it _apart_.

 

John moved down further into the depths of the fortress. There were very few sentries. After all Saini was certain that they wouldn’t be found. However every sentry fell for the scare story of the red-haired woman with a crossbow. It sort of made John want to meet her, if she really existed.

 

He made his way to the dormitory block. And emptied the contents of several superglue bottles and some vitamin capsules into the old-fashioned locks.

 

He did the same to the Security Centre, as well as cutting the intercom link.

 

Then he returned to his true destination.

 

His body count was slowly rising, and he was running out of diamorphine filled syringes. Before long he’d have to go to his back-up plan. Though he had managed to reduce the number of people he might have to kill.

 

He peered slowly round the corner at where the guards to the outer section of the cell-block stood.

 

This would be harder, two to take down at once.

 

But he’d gotten this far, so he might as well die trying.

 

The panic in his voice was more real this time. Fear for his plan and himself seeping through to lend credence to his story.

 

            “And there was this black shadow as well.” John elaborated.

 

This time, he was pushed more firmly behind the two guards. Both trying to protect him.

 

Sometimes being left-handed gave you an advantage, John reflected. He was basically ambidextrous with syringes.

 

Both men dropped like a rock.

 

John hit the light switch, plunging the hall and the cell block into darkness.

 

            “What’s going on?” One of the internal guards called out.

 

John let out a low moan, even as he pulled out two new syringes and removed their caps.

 

He heard the inner guards walk cautiously to the door. They opened it, expecting light, but instead met only more darkness.

 

John moved and managed to take down the first. But the thud of the body caused the second to be more alert. With slightly frantic arm-waving, he managed to disarm John.

 

There was no time to grab a new syringe. Or find the one on the floor.

 

Moving quickly John moved and managed to get behind the guard. His eyes having adapted better to the darkness. He then reached up and quickly broke the man’s neck.

 

He turned the lights back on and looked for his syringe. It was broken, trampled in the struggle. He brushed the worst of the pieces away with his foot.

 

Next he pulled guns free from the guards. Placing one in the empty holster at his waist, he slung a rifle over his shoulder and simply held another.

 

He also removed the ring of keys from the guards.

 

Slipping through the doorway he looked left and right, expecting to see prisoners in all the many cells. But they were empty. Their doors swinging slightly.

 

Finally he reached a cell that was firmly closed. Peering through the bared window, he could see dozens of people all crammed in the same place. All either sleeping or trying to.

 

John searched through the keys to find the one that fitted the lock. He pulled the door open, glad that someone had oiled it, so that it didn’t make a noise.

 

            “Up and at ‘em.” John called out, as loudly as he dared, “We’re getting out of here.”

 

They started stirring, at various rates.

 

            “Alan-A-Dale,” John snapped, “Front and centre!”

            “What’s going on, John?” Alan asked, once he reached the door.

            “It’s called a Prison Break.” John replied, “Don’t you know one when you see it? Take this.”

 

He pushed a gun into Alan’s hands.

 

            “You’re Red Cross.” Alan protested, “You shouldn’t be organising…”

            “RAMC.” John countered, “Captain. We’re moving. Now!”

            “You knew the Intelligence Corp is called Green Slime.” Alan realized.

            “Really thought I’d given it away there.” John shrugged, “Come on. We don’t have much time. Follow me.”

 

John turned and was moving out of the cell block, before Alan had really come to his senses.

 

John had planned this escape almost from the start. However some changes had had to be made due to recent events. He made his way back to the Infirmary.

 

            “You and you.” John picked two men who were wearing uniforms he recognised, “In here.”

 

He entered the infirmary and pulled the cover off the woman’s body, revealing her to be fully clothed, albeit in clothing that in no way suited her, and would probably never fit her. She was also lying on a stretcher.

 

            “Pick her up.” John ordered, “She comes too.”

 

He moved to the office and pulled out a half dozen or so rucksacks. One he slung on his back, arranging it, so that it didn’t foul his acquired rifle.

 

The other backpacks he passed to the nearest people outside the Infirmary.

 

            “Don’t lose them.” John instructed, “Took a bit of fudging to get them.”

 

John then led them down the corridor to the window he had used to see the sky.

 

            “In here. But keep quiet.” John said firmly, “I just need to do one thing and we can go to the garage and steal some vehicles to get out of here.”

 

John didn’t bother to check if they followed him. He simply marched over to the window and opened it. Swinging round his rifle, he positioned it and waited.

 

When he saw his chance he aimed and fired three times.

 

            “Move.” John declared, “I don’t know if anyone will pay attention to the shots, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

            “John,” Alan spoke as they were moving quickly through the fortress, “How long have you been planning this?”

            “Since I was captured.” John replied, “My great uncle was at Colditz.”

            “But you kept talking about your Oath. How could…”

            “Later.” John cut him off, “Just… Later Alan. I need to concentrate.”


	7. Chapter 7

John led them out of the fortress and unerringly towards the garage.

 

            “Does anyone know what a GPS tracking unit looks like?” John quietly addressed the group.

            “I do.” One stepped forward.

            “There should be one under each vehicle.” John instructed, “Disable them. We’ll need three vehicles.”

            “Sure thing.” The man nodded, “Any idea where on them?”

            “Near the front axle?” John suggested, “Sorry, I fix people, not cars.”

            “And I fix cars not people,” The man grinned, “Sure thing, Doc.”

 

He slid under three of the trucks in the garage, while various people tried to find the keys.

 

            “Done!” He dusted his hands off, as he kicked the equipment out of the way.

            “Got the keys!” One of the local women held them up victorious.

            “Alright.” John looked around, “There’s a compass in each of the bags. I’m fairly certain that the insurgents want to go their own way. You get one rucksack. There’s one for every ten people. Mine contains medications and stuff like that, so it’s basically useless. Take a truck and go.”

            “You won’t stop us?” One of them frowned.

            “Not you. Nor anyone else who chooses to go with you.” John stated, “Though if you take five or more extra, I’ll give you an extra rucksack. The injured woman is ours though. We’re in no condition to stop you. Go. We won’t follow.”

            “You can’t speak for everyone here.”

            “I’m a Captain. Does anyone out-rank me?” John asked.

 

There was a long pause.

 

            “I’ll take that as a no.” John declared, “So yes, I do. I speak for those here. Take yourselves and anyone who wishes to go with you and leave.”

            “You shouldn’t be doing that.” Alan pointed out.

            “We don’t have the men or the weapons to keep them under control.” John chided, “And this way? We stand a better chance. We won’t all be in the same basket. There’s a possibility that they’ll only chase one of us. And if they chase both, they’ll have to split their forces.”

            “That’s cold.” Alan stared.

            “It’s practical.” John countered.

 

It didn’t take long for the insurgents to pick a vehicle from the three and they got in with some of the locals. In total seventeen of them were ready to go. John kept his promise of handing over an extra backpack.

 

The rest of the prisoners got into one of the two remaining trucks, John making sure that his patient was properly secured. Alan clearly wanted to stay close to John, so he hauled himself up into the passenger seat… John having claimed the driver’s seat.

 

            “All set?” John called out.

 

A round of positive agreements replied to him.

 

            “Good.” John chirped, “Here we go!”

 

He launched the vehicle into gear.

 

By disabling the tracking on three of the vehicles, John knew that it would cause some confusion if the truck was used. If a Cobra saw a vehicle that wasn’t registering on their system’s GPS they wouldn’t know if it was a prisoner or an ally vehicle.

 

The insurgents had left the gate open, John drove through and then instructed that the gate should be shut.

 

No need to point out that the dead bodies were due to a breakout, instead of an invasion. Which was what John was expecting Cobra to think at first.

 

Of course that would be _after_ they finished breaking out of the dorms.

 

            “Those of you who can, try to sleep.” John ordered, “There’s some blankets in the rucksacks. Distribute. If you can’t sleep just rest. We’ll need it later.”

            “How the hell did you get hold of rucksacks, blankets and compasses?” Alan stared at John as the man drove further and further away from the fortress.

            “Blankets were easy.” John shrugged, “Space blankets. I put a request in. Managed to convince Cobra that I was preparing emergency kits for soldiers on patrol. Got me the rucksacks that way too… But the compasses would have tipped them off. So I made them.”

            “You _made_ them? How?”

            “I told you, my great uncle was in Colditz. He taught me how to make compasses. I just updated it.”

            “How?”

            “He helped me. Found it amusing. It was a hobby of sorts. Him teaching me every trick and manufacturing skill used in Colditz. Even if he was just a compass maker, he knew the basics. But compasses were our main entertainment.”

            “You sneaky bastard. You had me completely fooled.”

            “That was the point. You couldn’t tell what you didn’t know. Old Gummy taught me that too. Loose lips.”

            “I’m not sure if I should be angry or impressed as hell, John. Or should I call you Spook?”

            “Godammit Alan, I’m a Doctor not a Spook!” John laughed.

            “You’re crazy as they come, aren’t you?” Alan breathed, grinning, “Oh well. I’ve known worse… I _know_ worse.”

 

For a while they drove in silence.

 

            “Do you want me to take over?” Alan asked after about three hours.

            “No time.” John replied softly, in deference to the sleeping figures behind them, “Besides, I basically mainlined coffee before I started this escape… And visited the bathroom.”

            “John, do you have the time now to explain to me about how you kept mentioning your Oath… And yet did all of… All of _that_?”

            “I, John Hamish Watson, swear by Almighty God that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, her heirs and successors and that I will as in duty bound honestly and faithfully defend Her Majesty, her heirs and successors in person, crown and dignity against all enemies and will observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, her heirs and successors and of the generals and officers set over me.”

            “You sneaky bastard. I thought you meant the Hippocratic Oath.”

            “So did everyone.” John shrugged, “Look, I try to separate the two parts of me. The Doctor and The Soldier. Most of the time both Oaths run in alignment. The job of a Captain is to bring his men home. The duty of a Doctor is to keep his patients alive. Both coincide with each other.”

            “And when The Soldier has to shoot someone?” Alan pressed.

            “Do no harm.” John replied, “The Hippocratic Oath doesn’t say I _have_ to treat anyone. It just says I should do no harm. I adapted the Wiccan Rede. ‘If it harm none, do as ye will. If it harm some, do as you must.’. The Soldier can only harm to protect.”

            “You have a complicated mind-set.”

            “It’s the only way I can make all parts of me work together.”

            “Parts of you? Please don’t tell me you have MPD.”

            “No. I just am different people to different people. Like a brother to my sister. A Doctor to my patients. A soldier to my superiors. You know, standard stuff.”

            “Ah. The Clover Leaf.” Alan nodded.

            “Precisely.” John agreed, “Any ideas of which way I should be going?”

            “Second star to the right and straight on till morning?” Alan suggested.

            “And when I want directions from Peter Pan, I’ll ask for them.” John sighed, “But, better than nothing.”

 

John carried on driving. Slowly Alan started to nod off. Leaving John as the only awake member of the group.

 

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            “End of the line!” John called out, “Everybody out!”

            “What?!” Alan jerked awake.

            “We’re out of gas.” John laughed, “It’s walking from here. Anyone know where we are? I’m a little lost.”

            “Men!” One of the local women sighed exaggeratedly, “Never want to stop for directions… There is an oasis that way.”

            “You’re sure?” John pressed, “It all looks the same to me.”

            “I know the land.” She nodded.

            “Okay. Lead on.” John got out of the truck, “And somebody help me with my patient.”

 

Before long the group were up and ready to travel. It was about mid-afternoon. John wasn’t too surprised that everyone had slept so long, they had clearly been worked hard with little sleep for a long time. The local woman, who declared that she wasn’t going to give anyone her name, leading the rag-tag band.

 

However, just as she said, there was an oasis, about half a day’s walk from where their fuel gave out.

 

John was glad to see the water. The coffee had worn off hours ago, pure adrenaline and late nights working shifts being the only thing keeping him going.

 

At least he could rest for a while… And check on his patient.

 

            “She’s starting to come round.” John sighed in relief.

            “Who is she?” Alan asked, from where he was squatted next to John.

            “I don’t know.” John shrugged, “Important. American. A soldier. Tank Jockey, I heard. All I really know is that the Lieutenant thought she was important enough to ship to the Commander.”

            “Hey, Doc…” One of the soldiers wandered up to them.

            “Call me John.” John stated.

            “I’ve never heard of a medic doing what you did. Thought medics were meant to only defend themselves. It’s in the Geneva Convention, isn’t it?”

            “One, I rather doubt Cobra signed the Convention.” John countered, “Two, it is also the Duty of every captured Officer to attempt escape. And three, medics are allowed to fight in defence of themselves or their patients. She is my patient. At the time of our escape, I had no other patients under my direct medical care. That is to say, none I was treating at the time. Sending her to Cobra Commander would be harmful to her, in my medical opinion. Everything after that was just attempting to keep my Oaths. And my Rede.”

            “You’re a complicated man, John.” The soldier smiled, “I like you. I’m Horatio. Of the 40 Commando.”

            “Marine, huh?” Alan laughed, “Should have guessed.”

            “Danny,” Another put in, “Sapper. Specialty Bomb Disposal.”

            “Jack,” A new face smiled, “National Gendarmerie.”

            “Shri. Ghurka.”

            “Mac. United States SEAL.”

            “Sansone. Aeronautica Militare.”

 

Later John and Alan would find it highly amusing that although the military members of the group swapped designations and first names… Not one person offered their surname.

 

At least not then.

 

            “So we’re a real mixed bag.” Alan snorted, “Military from three different continents.”

            “Mac, Malvolio, Felip, Adam, Sarah, Rick.” John looked around the group, “Do you recognise her? I heard she was American.”

            “I know the face.” Sarah sighed, “But I don’t know why.”

            “She’s familiar.” Rick agreed, “But I’ve never met her.”

            “Well, we’re no further forward in identifying her then.” John breathed out, “Anyone injured? Anything at all. I’d rather no surprises.”

 

A few of them volunteered minor injuries; sprained ankles, small cuts and the like. John went round treating all of them.

 

            “Hey, looks like the Princess might wake up soon.” Mac called out, while John was at the oasis’ edge.

 

A moment later Mac was flat on his back, a black eye starting to develop.

 

            “She _hit_ me!” He yelped.

            “And Barbie-girl’s _still_ asleep.” Jack spoke in awe.

 

Then he was reeling back clutching his nose.

 

            “Okay, new rule.” Alan snorted, “No one nicknames her. She clearly doesn’t like it.”

            “We have rules?” Rick frowned, “No one told me!”

            “Yeah, we have rules.” Alan nodded, “Rule One, we don’t fight each other. Rule Two, John’s in charge… Because he is a scary, scary guy.”

            “Amen!” Sansone agreed.

            “Rule Three, no one nicknames Jane Doe.” Alan declared.

            “Rule Four,” John added, “No one hides injuries. If you’re hurt I want to know.”

            “I think I can remember those.” Julian nodded, “My superiors usually tell me that I have difficulty remembering rules.”

 

There was a large dose of amusement in Julian’s voice, so most of the soldiers took the assumption that the Frenchman was a bit of a maverick.

 

            “John,” One of the locals came towards the Doctor, “There is a village not too far from here. I have traded there before. However they are not too friendly to foreigners. Nor do they have the technology to allow you to communicate with your people.”

            “Do you know where the nearest friendly military unit is?” John asked, “I’d prefer British. American is my next favourite. After that I’ll take NATO.”

            “You would not want the French?” Jack sounded hurt, though whether that was because John was insulting his unit or because John was tending to his probably broken nose, no-one could tell.

            “I don’t have any influence there.” John countered, “I have enough influence to get everyone treated to my standards.”

            “I do not know of any nearby fixed bases.” The man stated, “But there is a city that way. I cannot remember how far. It should not be further than three days walk, though.”

            “We’ll find it.” Alan stated, “Will you be okay going to the village?”

            “We will be fine… Doctor John?”

            “Yes?”

            “You have our thanks. And we will remember you. Though I doubt it will be of much use to you in the future, you will always have friends here.”

            “Even if I cannot find them?” John smiled, “I know what will happen, you’ll walk away from here and the desert will swallow you.”

            “True. But you will still have our friendship.”

            “Be careful.” John instructed, “Cobra will still be looking for us.”

            “We will.”

 

That was the only reply and goodbye that the soldiers received. The locals picked themselves up and with one rucksack between the eight of them they walked into the evening haze.

 

The desert swallowed them.

 

Without chewing.


	8. Chapter 8

When Jane Doe awoke the light from the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon. Not dawn. Just pre-dawn light.

 

            “Hey, easy.” John put a gentle hand on her chest as she moved to sit up, “Easy.”

            “Who are you?” She demanded, a scowl crossing her features.

            “John… And meet your fellow escapees… That’s Sarah by the water. Alan propped up against that rock. Steve’s over there. The others are all asleep.”

 

In the same moment John handed over a canteen of water. One of the few they had among them.

 

            “Escapees?” She frowned, “Who’d you escape from?”

            “Cobra.” John replied bluntly, “What’s your name?”

            “Covergirl… Cobra? Where?”

            “Hopefully back at their base.”

            “How did they catch me?”

            “What do you remember?”

            “We attacked a convoy. Transporting diamonds. Cobra’s. They used BATs.”

            “Bats?”

            “Battle Android Troopers.”

            “That would explain why I didn’t have many people reporting injured.”

            “I got separated. Then… Just fire.”

            “Fire and blood.” John muttered, “From what I was told your… Tank? Got hit.”

            “My tank? _My_ tank? _My_ Mauler? My _machine_? _How_?”

            “I don’t know. I only know what I managed to get out of one of the Cobras. He said your tank got hit. They got you out. Then your tank exploded.”

            “My unit will be looking for me.”

            “I was given the impression that they don’t know you’re alive.”

            “Beach-Head wouldn’t stop. Nor would Snake-Eyes. They’re Rangers. Leave no man behind.”

            “You were in pretty bad shape.” John stopped that line of attack. She was quite defensive about her team.

            “How bad?” Covergirl looked down at her clothes.

            “I’m no trauma specialist. And I’m sure a real one would have done a better and quicker job. But given that I was working with Cobra lackeys forced into scrubs I think I did a good job. Though it took me thirteen hours. And I nearly lost you twice on the table.”

            “You?” Covergirl frowned, “You’re Cobra?”

            “No. They were missing a medic. Don’t know what happened to him. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You could say I was pressed into service.”

            “Oh.” Covergirl stared, “And the others?”

            “The miners.” John replied, “For those diamonds. There were more of them, but we went separate ways.”

            “So what’s your prognosis Doctor?”

            “Call me John. And you should be fine. I’ll need you to take antibiotics three times a day. And rest.”

            “Why so defensive?” Covergirl hadn’t missed the wince.

            “That’s all they called me. They asked my name when I was impressed. But after that… It was either Doc or Doctor. I don’t think they _knew_ my name at the end.”

            “Hey,” Covergirl smiled at him, “It’s okay. They won’t be bothering us again. Just as soon as my unit finds us.”

            “I’m not sure they’re looking.” John confessed.

            “Of course they will… How long have I been out for?”

            “Today is the eighth day.”

            “ _Eighth_? I shouldn’t have been out for that long.”

            “I sedated you. Not a lot, but enough to keep you out of it. The Lieutenant of the base was going to send you to someone called the Commander. I managed to buy you a week. If you’d been sitting up and talking coherently he’d have cancelled the deal.”

            “I understand. And thanks… A _lot_. What I don’t get is what is taking my unit so long.”

            “Maybe they don’t realize yet.” John shrugged, “You’re getting tired.”

            “I have to be able to walk. I can’t hold you back.”

            “You aren’t walking anywhere. Even if I have to strap you down to that stretcher myself. I triple tied your stitches, but I’d still rather someone look at them.”

            “And if I refuse?”

            “I’ll tie you to that stretcher.”

            “You’re as tough as Doc and Lifeline.”

            “Your unit has strange names for each other. Drink some more. I’m afraid we don’t have any food.”

            “You came out in the desert without food?” Covergirl stared, “Dusty would be appalled.”

            “Dusty?”

            “Desert trooper.”

            “I didn’t have a choice.” John sighed, “The food rations and extra water containers were due to arrive over the next two weeks.”

            “Then you should have waited.”

            “You were due to be shipped to the Commander yesterday.” John argued, “While a patient is in my care, I will not allow harm to come to them. You were my patient. Shipping you to the Commander I deemed would bring you harm. I moved up my timetable.”

            “To protect one you risked _all_!”

            “And if I sacrificed one, I would be sacrificing my principles.”

            “You are a fool.”

            “So you may think. But we should be okay. We just need to stick to the Rule of Three.”

            “Rule of Three?” Covergirl frowned.

            “Three seconds without hope. Three minutes without air. Three hours without shelter. Three days without water. Three weeks without food. Three months without companionship. The first two and last one do not apply to us. There is a city not too far from here. So we shouldn’t run out of food. We can gather water at night. And the shelter only applies to extreme conditions.”

            “You’re as crazy as my unit.”

            “And you’re recovering amazingly well from the sedation.”

            “You should see some of the guys I know. Doc keeps threatening to buy a tranq gun.”

            “I can guess why.” John grinned, “Look, just rest. We’ll get to safety.”

            “You’re nuts, John. But I’ll trust you. If you get me killed though… I’ll haunt you.”

            “It’s a deal.” John replied.

 

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John didn’t wait until the sun had fully risen before starting the group on their trek. He didn’t want them to be walking during the hottest part of the day.

 

Surprisingly Covergirl conceded the fight about walking. Though honestly Alan thought that rather had something to do with the fact that when she tried to get up she could barely take three steps.

 

John led the group. Though the rest of them doubted that he knew where he was going any better than the rest of them. However it was better than doing nothing. And he was following the compass as best as possible given the terrain.

 

At nearing noon they built a bit of shade to rest in. And drink from their limited supply of water.

 

Later they carried on walking, until it started to get dark. Then they set up a basic camp, forgoing fire due to lack of fuel… And a disinclination to burn their clothes or equipment.

 

They did, however, set up a couple of solar stills. So that they would have water for the next day.

 

The next day, they didn’t set out, until the sun had been up for a few hours. In order to maximise the water from their stills. It was worth the compromise.

 

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On the fourth day of their trek from the oasis, John had to shield his eyes as he saw something that looked like it might be a mirage.

 

There was a dust cloud being kicked up. And it was moving towards them.

 

 

John flicked his hand up, demanding a halt, which he immediately got.

 

            “What have you got?” Alan broke the silence which had lasted since their trek had started that day.

            “Something’s coming.” John replied.

            “What is it?” Jack pressed.

            “Don’t know. But its fast.” John shrugged.

 

The group basically stood in silence. Most of them pressing closer around the sleeping Covergirl’s stretcher, to hide her should the incoming be unfriendly.

 

A black motorbike pulled to a stop in front of them. A man dressed in black from head to toe got off. The only colour on him, apart from black, was the silver and grey of his weapons. Which were enough to arm the entire group of men he was facing.

 

He didn’t speak, just merely cocked his head to one side.

 

            “Captain John Watson, Commander of the Three Continents Division.” John declared, snapping off a salute.

            “John!” Mac hissed.

            “He’s American.” John countered.

            “How can you tell?” Louis asked.

            “White star and blue, red, white stripes on the bike.” John pointed.

 

John hadn’t turned his head away from the man, though he had dropped the salute and fallen into a parade stance.

 

The black-clad man was tapping a radio quickly and quietly. It was likely to be morse-code, but John’s exhaustion was making it difficult to make out the individual letters.

 

After a while, the man stopped and just stood there, leaning slightly back on his bike.

 

For ten minutes neither the man nor John moved. The other soldiers shifted slightly, moving a little in discomfort due to the heat. However John was perfect in his stance, as if he were on a parade ground, under the scrutiny of his drill sergeant.

 

Though part of his mind marvelled at how the black-clad man was staying so still. Though the position he was in was probably more comfortable than the parade stance, it wasn’t easier to hold.


	9. Chapter 9

John vaguely saw another dust cloud approaching them, after a while.

 

Another motorbike, this time painted in desert camouflage pulled up next to the black bike. Its rider dismounted, pulling her helmet off to reveal flame red hair.

 

            “Snake-Eyes?” She frowned at the black rider, “What’s going on here?”

 

The black-clad man pointed at John, then tucked his right thumb into his palm and with the other four fingers spread held his right hand in front of his face, little finger towards John. Finally he tapped his index finger against his chin twice, keeping the fingers in their position.

 

            “Captain John Watson, Commander of the Three Continents Division.” John repeated, “Did you just call him Snake-Eyes?”

            “Yes. What of it?” The woman asked.

            “Then there’s someone you need to see.” John stated, “Make a hole, gentlemen, the lady needs to come through. I rather doubt she’ll harm our lady.”

 

The group split, only keeping the two men holding the stretcher near it. John led the woman past, until she could see the sleeping figure.

 

            “Covergirl!” She exclaimed loud enough to wake the tank jockey.

            “Wha?” Covergirl looked around, before laying eyes on the woman, “Scarlett!”

            “How?” The appropriately named Scarlett stared.

            “Put me down, boys.” Covergirl reached behind her to tap Bryan as she spoke, “Scarlett’s an old friend. We’re safe now.”

            “This is Scarlett to Duke,” Scarlett had reached for her radio, “Get a unit on my location, _now_! I’ve found Covergirl. Alive! I need Lifeline too.”

 

Scarlett sank down to the ground, as Covergirl was carefully lowered. Scarlett moving to grab her friend’s hand.

 

            “God, Court… We thought you were dead.” Scarlett breathed, “Your tank exploded.”

            “So I was told.” Covergirl replied, “From what John said, I got hauled out, just before.”

 

Snake-Eyes moved almost silently though the group, to kneel next to Covergirl. He tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.

 

            “Snake-Eyes!” Covergirl exclaimed in delight, “Its okay, guys. We’re safe now.”

            “You are sure?” Jack frowned.

            “Jack,” Covergirl smirked, “I broke your nose, while asleep. Trust me on this one. Snakes can defeat any Cobra that are still chasing us. And if he needs help, Scarlett kicks butt like you wouldn’t believe.”

            “Are you injured?” Scarlett asked.

            “I was.” Covergirl shrugged, “And John won’t let me walk unaided. Not until someone else checks my stitches.”

            “John?” Scarlett pressed.

            “He’s RAMC.” Covergirl declared, “And apparently the highest ranking here.”

 

The group relaxed to a certain degree. Most of them choosing to sit and nurse their water containers.

 

            “Sit down, Alan.” John muttered to Alan, who was standing beside him, “You’re exhausted.”

            “Only when you do.” Alan countered, “You’ve been pushing yourself harder than anyone.”

            “Not until I formerly hand over my patient.” John argued, “She’s still my responsibility.”

            “You are too damn stubborn.” Alan sighed.

 

A small group of armed jeeps arrived not long later. They circled the group and a man in a balaclava and body-armour jumped out and charged to Covergirl’s side.

 

            “What in tarnation?” The man yelled, “Scarlett. Spook! What the hell? You said Barbie-Doll was alive?”

            “She hit me for that.” Jack remarked idly, “Broke my nose.”

            “Hey, Beachhead.” Covergirl grinned, “How you been?”

            “Dang it, Cinderella!” Beachhead snapped.

            “We didn’t try that one.” Sarah laughed.

            “What were you thinking?” Beachhead carried on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. It was entirely possible that he hadn’t noticed.

            “Nothing to do with me, Beach.” Covergirl retorted, “Last thing I remember is fire… Probably my tank getting hit. Next thing I remember is John’s ugly mug.”

            “How long were you out for?” A third man had managed to approach them in the chaos.

 

How he’d managed to approach without anyone really noticing was a bit of a mystery, given that he was dressed in a bright red and white jumpsuit and helmet.

 

            “Thanks Snake-Eyes.” The man thanked the black-clad walking armoury, who moved out the way, so that he could kneel next to the patient.

            “Won’t help you Lifeline.” Covergirl shrugged, “I went into surgery, without waking up. And then John drugged me for about a week.”

            “Why?” Lifeline demanded.

            “They wanted to send me to the Commander.” Covergirl placed a placating hand on Lifeline, “If I was unconscious I looked too ill to make it. It was the best thing he could do for me.”

            “Can you walk?” Lifeline pressed.

            “Technically, yes. With help. I’m a little unsteady. John said he’d tie me to the stretcher if I tried without help, before someone else checked my stitches. But I haven’t fallen to pieces yet. And they’re quite impressive.”

            “Medic Lifeline,” John interrupted the conversation, “I would appreciate it, if after you’ve seen to Covergirl, if you could check my men. I’ve been their only medical aid for the last few days and I am of the belief that they require some medical attention. Though there is no rush.”

            “Of course.” Lifeline smiled, “Was it really necessary to sedate her?”

            “The guy in charge of the base was going to send her to the Commander right after surgery. I didn’t feel I had a choice.” John answered.

            “Good call.” Scarlett remarked, “Thank you.”

 

John moved away from the small group.

 

            “Okay, let’s see these stitches.” Lifeline instructed.

            “You sure, Lifeline.” Covergirl grinned, “They’re pretty much all over.”

            “Eyes front, gentlemen.” Lifeline announced to the area at large.

 

Every male studiously turned their back, apart from Lifeline. Though they didn’t see anything, they all _heard_ Lifeline and Scarlett.

 

            “Good _Lord_ , Court!” Scarlett breathed, “How’d you _survive_?”

            “I need to up my estimate of Cobra’s medics’ abilities.” Lifeline muttered, “This is excellent work.”

            “It wasn’t them.” Covergirl countered, “John was pressed into service. They’d lost their medic. So they took him.”

            “That must have been hard.” Lifeline commented, “Did you get any idea how long this took? His stitches are closer together than I prefer, but to each his own. It’s very good work. Double tied?”

            “Triple, apparently.” Covergirl shrugged, “And he said something about thirteen hours. But that was with Cobras assisting.”

            “He does nice work. But his speed needs work. I reckon these might not even scar badly. If you’re really lucky, not at all.” Lifeline smiled.

            “Not too worried about that.” Covergirl remarked, “I just want to know when I can get to work on fixing my baby.”

            “Total write off.” Scarlett nixed that idea, “I’ll get Hawk to order you a new one though.”

            “Okay, I’ll have to get to tuning it up soon as it arrives.” Covergirl conceded.

            “No.” Lifeline was firm, “You are getting two weeks of medical leave. At _least_. Depends on what Doc and I find with more extensive tests. All I can say for certain right now is that you’re not going to expire on me in the next day or so. But you’re dehydrated, so you’re going on a drip. No arguments, or I’ll extend the medical leave… And schedule all your missing shots.”

            “I’ll be good.” Covergirl surrendered immediately.

            “Right.” Lifeline finished putting her on a saline drip, “Scarlett, don’t let her remove that. I’d best check on the rest of these men.”

 

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It was about an hour and a half later that Lifeline stood up and looked at the collection of soldiers all now sporting heavy duty suncream, water canteens and basic ration bars.

 

            “That’s all of them.” Lifeline sighed in relief, “Someone get transport here. I want them out of the sun. And preferably on rehydration drips.”

            “Hey,” Covergirl looked around, “There’s two missing… Alan and…”

            “John!” The exclamation was firm, but slightly panicked, “John! Come on! Stay with me.”

            “John.” Covergirl finished belatedly.

 

Lifeline dashed over to the side of one of the jeeps. It was out of sight of the rest of the escapees, and shaded by the shadow of the jeep.

 

John was propped up against one of the tyres. Eyes closed. Body slumped.

 

It was clear that he was only upright at all because of Alan’s hand on his shoulder. The soldier was desperately patting his friend’s face as he tried to garner a response.

 

            “John! Come back to me. Stay with me. Please. John!” Alan was clearly getting more and more distressed.

            “Out my way.” Lifeline squatted down in front of the medic.

 

Alan hovered, clearly deeply concerned.

 

            “Is he your friend?” Scarlett asked.

            “We’d never met before.” Alan replied, “But I was the prisoner who saw him the most… He’s done everything. Masterminded the escape. Obtained the supplies… None of us knew we were even escaping, until he arrived at our cell door having killed the guards. We walked out of that base. Not a scratch on us. Never faced a single guard. Those we saw were already dead. I saw him kill three. Didn’t even realize what he was doing until it was too late to offer to help… This wasn’t us. This was all him.”

            “What else has he been doing?” Lifeline asked, as he continued his examination.

            “He takes the longest guard shift at night. _Always_. Drinks last. Drinks least. We haven’t had food, but he puts glucose in the water each day. He checks that we’re okay at the beginning and end of each day. And at our midday break.” Alan’s words were flowing in a rush, “He’s a friend. Someone I _wish_ I’d met sooner.”

            “Well, I’ve got my diagnosis.” Lifeline sank back on his heels.

            “What is it?” Alan breathed, “Will he be okay?”

            “It’s a standard case of Cura te ipsum.” Lifeline smiled.

            “What?” Alan stared.

            “Physician Heal Thyself.” Lifeline laughed, “He’s been neglecting his own care. Don’t know how he’s made it as far as he has… He must have some determination. Most people would have collapsed at _least_ a day ago. I’ll hook him up to an IV line, dress the few injuries he’s accumulated and ignored. He’ll be fine.”

            “Idiot.” Alan muttered, “He’s an absolute idiot!”

 

Not one of those close enough to hear Alan’s words failed to notice how the word “Idiot” was said with the intonation one would normally give the word “Hero”.

 

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When John came around, he was in what was clearly a hospital bed. A private room.

 

However there was another occupant.

 

A blond haired man in a bomber jacket sporting a General’s Stars sat next to him. A warm friendly smile on his face.

 

            “Sir!” John managed to pull off a salute, despite the IV in his right arm.

            “At ease, son.” The General smiled, “I came to thank you.”

            “You did not have to wait here, sir.” John replied, “Someone could have reported when I awoke.”

            “That’s true.” The General shrugged, “But that’s not my way. Not for men who risked everything to protect one of my own. Call me Hawk.”

            “Sir,” John frowned, “I don’t understand.”

            “Don’t expect you to, son. But know this, you protected Covergirl. Stuck your neck out on the line for her. She’s one of mine. I appreciate that. You saved her life. Doc and Lifeline both agree… They also say that your stitches could have been double tied, not triple. And if you spaced them a little more you’d save cramping your fingers. But it was a good job.”

            “Good.” John relaxed slightly, “I was worried.”

            “You’re a good man. A fine soldier. And an excellent doctor. Though if you _ever_ neglect yourself like that again, you may find my medics chasing after you. With tranquiliser rifles… They’re getting very good with them. Your leg wound was starting to get infected. Much longer without treatment and you might have developed a limp.”

            “I didn’t have time.”

            “Next time, _make_ time, son.”

            “What about the other escapees?” John pressed.

            “They’re a-okay.” Hawk replied, “Annoyed at you for not taking care of yourself. But they’re a-okay. Some might be by later on. Once you’ve rested a bit more.”

            “Sir,” John ducked his head slightly, “When I was captured, my patrol was injured…”

            “Duke owes me ten bucks.” Hawk laughed, “I _told_ him you’d ask about your original patrol… They’re all fine. All got shipped home. Patel was medicalled. The other two they’re not certain about…”

            “But they might still get their tickets.” John sighed, “They shouldn’t have done that. I’m not worth it.”

            “They thought you were.” Hawk countered, “So you have to _make_ it true, son.”

            “How?”

            “Just be you.” Hawk stood up, “Get some more rest, soldier. Someone will be by to debrief you later on. I hope to see you again.”

 

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John wasn’t too surprised that he ended up being debriefed by two men he’d never seen before. It was a Staff-Sergeant Ben and a Lieutenant Stone.

 

Normally a debriefing would be led by a more senior soldier than the man being debriefed, but John wasn’t insulted. He got the impression that this was a rather _unusual_ situation he had managed to land in the middle of.

 

And both men carried themselves with confidence and an attitude that indicated a much higher rank than the one they claimed.

 

John gave them every detail that he could without breaking his Hippocratic Oath. Though both of them seemed to understand that limitation and didn’t press him.

 

They did, however, ask a few questions.

 

            “Why did you feel it necessary to perform medical evaluations?”

            “Gave me information about personnel numbers, shift patterns and the sort of guards I would be facing.”

 

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            “Vitamin capsules and superglue?”

            “You try turning a key in an old lock gummed up with that. Trick I learned at Uni… Plus vitamin capsules stink something _horrible_. Nobody would be willing to poke around for long. Only way to open the doors were to break them down.”

 

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Once the debrief was finished, the pair looked at each other, before nodding.

 

            “We have an offer to extend to you.” Stone spoke calmly, “We are part of a unit. We require a medical officer… A doctor to be precise. We are of the belief that you might be suitable. What do you say?”

            “You would, of course,” Ben carried on, “Receive all the benefits that your rank allows. However in our unit rank and position are a little… Fluid.”

            “Fluid in a way that allows a Staff Sergeant and a Lieutenant to debrief a Captain.” John acknowledged.

            “Precisely, my dear chap.” Stone smiled, “Would you be interested?”

            “I take it further details are classified.” John stated instead of asked.

            “Unfortunately, yes.” Ben nodded, “However you would be part of something great.”

            “But I’m nobody. Nothing interesting ever happens to me… I’m not even a trauma surgeon. I don’t see what help I could be.”

            “My dear chap, you are achieved something that nobody could do.” Stone laughed, “So in that respect you could consider yourself nobody. However I rather believe that you are Captain Watson. Owner of a rather impressive reputation that is quickly spreading.”

            “What?” John blinked.

            “You weren’t mentioned in dispatches.” Ben shrugged, “However… Well, you know how rumour spreads in the Army.”

            “Like wildfire.” John sighed, “I’ll think about it.”

            “Will two days be long enough?” Ben asked, “Just… We really need a doctor.”

            “I’ll give you my answer then.” John nodded, “Thank you for the offer and the time.”

            “We understand this is a big decision.” Stone remarked, “And we are not exactly able to give you all the information you desire. There will be further training, of course. However at the end, you will be making a significant difference to the safety of the world. My dear chap, I rather doubt we could find ourselves another doctor so eminently suitable.”

 

And with that, they left.


	10. Chapter 10

Apart from nurses and the occasional doctor, John was mainly left alone for the rest of the day.

 

He was actually quite glad of the quiet. Gave him time to think about everything. Gave him time to relax from the constant tension he had been under.

 

            “Hey.” A voice called from the doorway, “You’re looking better.”

            “Alan.” John laughed, “So are you.”

            “You gave us quite a scare… Gave _me_ quite a scare.” Alan replied, “Why weren’t you taking care of yourself?”

            “I… I had better reserves. Better food. I was physically more capable of the deprivation.”

            “But we needed _you_. What would we have done if you had collapsed on us? You were what kept us going. You gave us the strength we needed each day. What were you _thinking_?”

            “I did what I had to do. I wasn’t loosing another patient… Another man.”

            “You are such an idiot… Without you… We wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. God, how can you not _see_ that?”

 

There was an uncomfortable silence for a while.

 

            “The others wanted to come and see you.” Alan confessed, “But the doctors don’t want you too disturbed. They would only allow one. I won the right.”

            “Discussion?”

            “Poker.” Alan shrugged, “We’re all headed back to our units tomorrow. The doctors should let you come say goodbye then. Has anyone said when you’re heading home?”

            “I’m not sure I am… Two guys gave me a job offer. Medic for a highly classified unit.”

            “Who?”

            “A Lieutenant Stone and Staff Sergeant Ben. Though if that’s their real names I’ll be surprised.”

            “Will you take it?”

            “I don’t know. They said I’d be making a real difference. But it’ll be hard. I’m not sure that it’s worth it.”

            “It is.” Alan’s response was quick.

            “What?” John frowned.

            “It’s tough. It’s hard. You’ll be pushed like you’ve never been pushed before. But it is worth every tear, every sweat-drop, every injury… _Everything_.”

            “You can’t know that.”

            “I can. I know.” Alan countered.

            “How?”

            “I told them to offer it.” Alan perched on the bed, “Big Ben and Stone are my superior officers… Unofficially… It’s a bit…”

            “Fluid?”

            “You could say that.” Alan was blunt, “All of us can make recommendations as to who we believe should be part of the unit. The top brass make the final decision. Some guys recommend a lot of people. Few make the cut. So they’re not listened to that much. Some guys, like me, don’t recommend people. So when we do. The brass listens and looks. Guess Stone and Big Ben liked what they saw, TC.”

            “TC?” John fixed on the one thing that wasn’t overwhelming right then.”

            “I told you I’d find you a nickname.” Alan grinned, “They’re calling you Three Continents Watson. It’s a bit of a mouthful. So is Three Continents… So, TC for short.”

            “I’m not gonna win this one, am I?”

            “No.” Alan was unrepentant.

 

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The next day, true Alan’s word, John was allowed out of his bed and room to see the others.

 

Though they wouldn’t let him out of a wheelchair. John rather thought it was a calculated criticism of his self-care. Probably orchestrated, in part, by the medic Lifeline. Even if John hadn’t seen him since handing over his patients.

 

All the escapees were there. All in their various uniforms.

 

And all ecstatic to see him.

 

Once John had been hugged, bro-slapped and generally man-handled, all of the twenty four stepped back and pulled off salutes that would have brought a tear to any drill sergeant’s eye… For all the _right_ reasons.

 

Then they began to sing.

 

            “Oh why you look so sad…”

 

It wasn’t brilliant. There were plenty of wrong and clashing notes. They certainly wouldn’t win any awards.

 

But you couldn’t deny the heart and spirit behind it.

 

            “I’ll stand by you.”

 

John laughed as they finished, some of them looking down and scuffing the floor, like naughty schoolboys.

 

            “You rescued us.” Jack spoke, “You protected us. You cared for us. We will remember. We are, now and for always, the Three Continents Division. Should you need us, ask and we will come.”

            “I did what anyone would do.” John protested.

            “But it was you who did it.” Mac countered, “Anyone _could_ of. But it was _you_ who _did_.”

            “We had a small argument about what award you should receive.” Sansone stated, stepping forward with what rather looked like a shoebox, “So we compromised.”

 

With care and reverence the shoebox was handed over to John. Carefully opening it, he found what looked at first to be the collected works of a primary school art class.

 

Lifting one item out, it took John a little while to recognise it, but once he did he realized what the box contained in principle.

 

It was a gold medal hanging from a red, white and blue ribbon.

 

            “Médaille d’honneur pour acte de courage et de dévouement.” Jack stated, “Or in English…”

            “Medal of Honour for bravery and dedication.” John stated automatically.

 

It wasn’t a _real_ version. Rather a cardboard and paper and ribbon replica.

 

But the intent was there.

 

            “How many?” John asked looking at the box.

            “We had an argument.” Felip shrugged, “We all had different opinions.”

            “We also made this.” Shri stepped forward, holding out a small patch.

 

It was fabric, and clearly meant to be sewn onto a shirt of some kind. The symbol on it was simple, but also complicated.

 

The world was clearly visible, picked out in blue and green, though three continents were firmly outlined in silver. Central to the design was the Rod of Asclepius, sewn in gold. It was clear that a lot of work had gone into the design.

 

            “How long was I out that you were able to make _this_?” John breathed.

            “My mother taught me to sew quickly.” Shri shrugged, “I will be making more. Every unit needs a badge.”

            “You don’t need to do that.” John protested.

            “Yes. We do.” Charles countered, “None of us want to forget this… We’re bloody _proud_ of being your Three Continents Division. You’re going to be a great man, John. A great man. A great soldier. A great doctor.”

            “And we want to be able to point and say, we were there. We were here.” Felip agreed.

            “I’m not that special.” John argued, “I’m just John. Nothing special. Nothing important ever happens to me.”

            “No, it doesn’t.” Mac shook his head, “Because you _do_ the important. You _make_ the important happen.”

            “We don’t care what you believe.” Sarah put in, “We believe in John Watson.”

 

There was a chorus of agreements, and nodding heads, over shadowing John’s protests.

 

            “Hey boys,” A man in a Stetson called out to them, “You’d best be getting aboard, cowboys. I’m gonna hafta put the spurs to my steed to get you all home ‘fore the sun sets.”

 

Goodbyes were said quickly and before John had any time to really come to terms with it, everyone was gone.

 

Even Alan.

 

Though he had time to whisper into John’s ear.

 

            “Remember what I said. It’s dangerous, but it’s worth it.”

 

John was left in an empty room, in a wheelchair, holding a shoebox of paper and cardboard medals.

 

He heard footsteps behind him. But didn’t turn. He was carefully putting the lid back on the box.

 

            “What’s your decision, Captain Watson?” Stone spoke from right behind John.

 

John rose to his feet and turned to face the pair. The box tucked under his arm.

 

            “Count me in.” John declared firmly.

 

The pair broke into huge grins.

 

            “Good decision, old chap.” Stone stated.

            “Welcome aboard.” Ben extended his hand to shake John’s, “Welcome to the Tommies.”


End file.
